of courage and cracked promises
by LiannaAila
Summary: All Emma knows is that one summer afternoon, Norman smiles at her and she is lost. What is love, but a certainty that you cannot let the other die?


_**Disclaimer: All rights belong to the creators of this brilliant manga and anime. **_

* * *

All Emma knows is that one summer afternoon, Norman smiles at her and she is lost.

It was a relatively normal morning, too. Ray is sitting to the side, casually absorbed in his book. The other children are laughing as they sprint across the field, and Mama is washing clothes while keeping an eye on the younger ones.

Emma has her chin in her hands, elbows on the cool grass and legs kicking in the air. She's pleasantly full from lunch and the sunshine on her back warms her to the core. Norman is answering her sleepy question about when their tree might have been planted. "I wonder if bees ever get to it," he says suddenly, nose crinkling. "Or maybe this tree just has its own flowers in the spring."

"Who knows," says Ray. "They're good enough without you dissecting them."

Norman laughs and reaches over to smack him. Ray dodges, but Norman gets a hold of his book and then they're tussling on the grass.

Emma watches them and hums. Norman's white hair is being even more tousled than it usually was, with bits of grass and dirt dusted on top of his head. He finally pins down Ray, who had chucked his book a foot away and simply given up resisting. Laughing, he looks to Emma, eyes bright and clothes slightly rumpled. There's even a stray twig stuck in his hair. He looks ridiculous.

But a strange sensation is blooming through her, warming her cheeks, and she quickly blinks and offers a smile when he begins to look puzzled.

"Emma?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

She realizes she's been staring and ducks her head. "I'm just sleepy," she says with a small yawn. She's not entirely faking it, but there's something that tells her she shouldn't keep looking at Norman for chance of a full-out blush. She doesn't know why she'd be embarrassed, though. She's seen him look far more ridiculous than just before. And he should be the embarrassed one, then.

"Get off of me," Ray grunts, making grabby-hands for his book. Norman slides right off, glancing at Emma.

"Do you want to take a nap?" he asks. "It's warm outside." His eyes are warm and blue and concerned. She flushes, and oh boy she can _feel_ his considering gaze sharpen.

"O-Okay," she immediately turns away and curls into a ball. _What's going on? What if-_She could be embarrassed. Or, it could be something else. Something more. She's been through most of the books in the library, even the ones hidden in the back. Being friends with Ray tended to make people at least a little more than normally interested in books. Of all kinds.

She buries her head in her knees and feels her face burn. _Norman's cute._

* * *

She follows him with her eyes for the rest of the week, trying to be unobtrusive as possible. He's kind, funny, and considerate. He makes faces for the younger children and listens patiently as they ramble on excitedly about their day. He helps with the dishes, and quietly makes things easier for Mama by suggesting a game of tag. After all, tag requires more than three children to play.

And he's smart, too. She knows that in a test of pure endurance and agility, she can far outlast him, even though he's fully recovered and almost as fast as Ray. But he uses little tricks and tactics to gain victory. Every. Single. Time. It makes her scrunch her face in frustration but never ill-will, and she sighs in exasperation every single time he returns with all the tag participants milling about him and complaining. _Not admiration,_ she berates herself. The thrill that shoots through her when he pops out of the cliff next to her tree and touches her head is only her surprise, of course.

But she can't seem to make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds, and even then her heart starts to race. Although she acts as normally as she can, jumping on the two boys and keeping up her cheerful character, she thinks that they can sense that something is off. She can tell that they're wondering if she's okay, but she doesn't ever get sick and it's the middle of the summer so she can hardly say she caught a cold.

So, she resigns herself to surreptitiously avoiding them both, only in the short term, so that she can get a better handle on herself. That way, she can come up with an excuse involving both of them if they confront her.

Anyways, she now spends as much time with the other children as she can. Gilda looks at her with a puzzled look when she plops next to her during free time, but Emma cheerfully tells her that it's because she wanted to help with the kids just for a bit.

It goes on like this for nearly a week until she's cornered. By Norman, no less. It's right after free time begins, so she isn't able to escape to Gilda when he catches up with her outside the house.

"Emma," he frowns, and she suddenly feels guilty as the sight of vague hurt on his face. "Are you avoiding us?"

"What?" she says, feigning ignorance. "Of course not."

"You don't sit with us anymore," he says.

"I do," Emma looks at him, eyes wide. She's careful to project just the right amount of innocence and confusion. "Norman, is everything okay? I was helping Gilda and Don with the little ones this week."

"They like what they're doing," Norman points out. "And they know that we know, so they can have fun." _He's too smart_, she wails inwardly, _he'll see right through it_.

But Emma rallies with courage, fully aware and strengthened by the threat of severe embarrassment if her plot fails. "Gilda said it was nice for us to spend more time together," she says, sounding slightly wounded and very confused. "We only get to talk before bedtime."

"Oh." His eyebrows don't exactly lift, but the line of his mouth relaxes a little. She's struck with sudden inspiration.

"Missing me, Norman?" she teases. The white-haired boy splutters uncharacteristically.

"Em-ma," he coughs, and she beams at him.

"I'll spend more time with you two," she promises, catching the sleeve of his cardigan and swinging it towards her. His eyes widen. "Gilda and Don are my friends, but you two are extra special," she barrels on, smiling a stupid, loopy smile. _If Ray knew, he'd laugh until he choked,_ she thinks, and almost groans.

"You too, Emma," Norman smiles at her. "You're special, too." He's completely relaxed now, and the clear affection in his voice strikes her speechless. She has to go.

"I'm going to find Gilda, I'll be right back," she bubbles, bouncing away and hardly aware of whatever she's sprouting. She hurries inside the house. Gilda is probably gathering other children, but she takes a left into an empty hallway first. There, she releases a huge breath.

Emma, as sunny-spirited as she is, is not dumb. She touches her face and is hardly surprised to feel it positively glowing with heat. _Oh, Norman. What am I going to do?_

She doesn't know. All that she knows is that somewhere, her world is beginning to change.

* * *

_Oh, the irony. Oh, what a tragedy._

Only months later, she collapses on the muddy grass, bile surging up her throat. "Conny," she cries. "Tell me Conny isn't-isn't dead!"

She doesn't have to look up to see his face, white with terror. That image has already been carved into her soul. She waits, grief ripping at her lungs.

"She's dead," Norman finally says. His voice wavers. "Conny's dead."

The sick feeling in her stomach pours out into a broken scream. She buries her face into the grass to muffle her sobs.

* * *

The first morning, she actually wonders if Norman is human.

"Good morning, Emma!" he smiles from behind the cart. There is no trace of the previous night on his features.

"Morn-" She sees **her**. Eyes lowered, lips tugged up into a smile as she draws Lily into her lap.

The vertigo hits her hard, then. She wants to throw up and run. She's thrown back to Conny's slack face, Conny's expression, the blood-red flower blooming from her ches-

"Good morning, Emma," Ray says as he walks past her. Norman glances over, and his eyes show the briefest flash of worry. That jolts her back into reality, just as Isabella looks directly at her.

"Morning, guys!" she says, and picks up Phil.

* * *

When Isabella smiles at her, white teeth sharp and eyes bone-chillingly black, it's from that summer moment a lifetime ago that she finds her courage.

She dredges up the perfect concoction of innocence and confusion, and blinks up at her foster mother.

"I love Grace Field!" She grins. She can't risk being exposed, not now. Spontaneously, she wraps her arms around Isabella's neck. "I love you too, Mama!"

She feels the smooth, starched fabric and breaths in a sweet scent as her false mother hugs her back. She prays Conny will forgive her.

Later in the forest, she gives Norman her one condition.

"What if we were younger? What if we weren't full-scorers?" she demands. "Would the older kids have taken us then? You? Ray? We're family. I can't leave my family to die."

Deep down, she knows her logic is irrational. There's no point in taking everyone if that means they'll all get caught. But if anyone can do it, it's Norman. She holds her breath, waiting for him to dismiss her idea. There's no way he'll agree to something that's so illogical, not when the stakes are so high.

"Okay," he says placidly. She gapes at him. "I trust you," he elaborates after a moment. "It'll be a lot harder and riskier. But if you want to take everyone, I'll help."

Ray is harder to convince. She drifts to the wall as Norman gives her the cue. _Trust me,_ he'd said. _I just need to talk to Ray alone for a bit_.

Emma traces the rough concrete exterior of the wall. She knocks on it experimentally. It's solid. She hears Ray's disbelieving shout from all the way within the trees, and she feels her mouth quirk up.

She walks up just as Ray heaves a huge, frustrated sigh and rubs his face. Norman is watching him hopefully. If it hadn't been for the severity of the situation, she would've found the scene funny . "Fine," Ray snaps. "I'll help."

She pumps her fist. "Yes!"

Together, Norman and Ray come up with a battle plan. Emma watches it fall into place, helps slide the pieces together. It's an ingenious idea, using tag as physical and strategic training to prepare everyone. She easily memorizes all the formations, tries her best to outmaneuver Norman while keeping the children around her hidden as well. Ray teaches them to track and soon the younger ones learn how to cover their own footprints, to hide downwind, and to create false trails.

She notices how Norman expertly maneuvers all aspects of the plan while still maintaining appearances. Now, in a situation of life-or-death, it's his intelligence and character that shine brighter than they ever could through simple testing. His plans have to be flawless. He keeps everything together.

In the storeroom, she watches him pull out another tablecloth. "That should be enough to finish the rope," he says. There are barely any shadows under his eyes. Mama can never suspect. But here, in the dim lighting of the windowless storeroom, he looks exhausted.

"Norman," Emma reaches out and takes the tablecloth. "Do you want to sit down for a bit?"

He looks at her, confused. He needs to be strong right now, she thinks. For himself and for us.

"Isabella is watching the young ones," she says. "Don and Gilda will keep her away. Can we sit for a bit? She can't see us here."

Norman pauses. "She might come inside," he says doubtfully.

She plops down on the floor regardless, spreading the tablecloth underneath her. She pats it. "Come on," she urges. He sits uncertainly.

For a moment, they watch the overhead lamp swing slowly in the air. Dust motes spin slowly in the light. She closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing, feels her muscles loosen. It's good to be herself.

She can feel Norman beside her, too, warm and solid. His breathing deepens. She shifts her head to look at him. His eyes are closed, and his face is relaxed. He looks peaceful.

She knows his gears are still turning inside his head, though. It's Norman, after all.

But when they stand, he looks far better than he had a few minutes ago. "Let's do this," he says determinedly.

"We're going to get out safe," she agrees, dusting off the tablecloth. She glances up to meet his gaze. It's soft.

"Thanks, Emma" he says, and his eyes are fond. She blushes a little. _Found out._ Unable to give him a response, she bundles the tablecloth into a little square and tucks it under her skirt. When she looks up, he's turned his back and is almost out the door.

"Come on," he says, the tips of ears pink. "Ray's waiting."

She catches up to him, and together they walk out of the house into the bright sunlight. Ray gives them a nod as they settle beneath the tree. Mama has her back to them, talking to Gilda.

_We can do this,_ Emma thinks. _We can definitely escape_.

* * *

The clear snap of bone brings more pain than she's ever felt in her life.

They're sitting on the infirmary bed again. She's clutching the bedspread so hard she thinks her fingers are turning white.

"Why didn't you run?" Ray demands. His black hair sticks up wildly and he tugs at it roughly. "You're being shipped tomorrow goddammit!"

Norman shakes his head. "I had to come back to you guys," he says. "You needed to know." Even now, his cerulean eyes are impossibly beautiful in the lamplight. He's too selfless.

"You could've told us later," Emma fires. "We would've met up later."

"It would've been too late," he shoots back. "I'd rather die than risk your lives." She feels a sickening lurch. It's too much. She can't do this anymore.

She pushes past Ray, grabs Norman by the shoulders, and shakes him. "I like you," she tells him. "Norman, I-" she breaks and there are tears running down her face and dripping onto her bare arms. He is absolutely still. "I like you so much," she sobs. "You're my family and I love you and I can't-I _can't _lose you."

Norman looks at her, and something cracks in his expression. She recoils from the emptiness, the utter, blank despair in his eyes. "Emma," he says. "It's a cliff."

She draws back, still holding his arms. He hasn't moved at all. He repeats it again. "Beyond the wall is a cliff."

Ray swears then, slams a hand onto the bedpost behind them. "You're kidding."

Emma begins to tremble.

He speaks trance-like, eyes vacant, tone slow and methodical in that way she had admired before but now absolutely hated. She hated his gentleness, his selflessness. She hated that this kind, selfless boy was now spelling out his death, too early, all in vain.

"Grace Field House is surrounded by cliffs," he says. "One bridge full of guards. It's impossible."

"There's still a way!" she insists. "We can hide you in the forest, and-and bring you food when we all go outside."

"It won't work," Norman says blankly. There's a robot inside of him, Emma thinks hysterically. There's a robot, and it's controlling him like Mama controlled us all with her little puppet strings.

"Bullshit," Ray hisses. But the way he slumps over, face dark and helpless, speaks frustration far more than anger. Even he can't think of a solution.

They sit in stifled silence. The lampwick burns down slowly, steadily. Emma distantly realizes that she's still grasping his wrists, and slowly withdraws. Then, Norman suddenly moves.

He launches himself forward into her, pushes her into Ray, who makes a startled noise. He hugs them tight.

"Thank you for all the wonderful years you've given me," he whispers. "My life was a happy one because I spent it with you two."

There's a muffled roaring in Emma's ears, and she sits frozen as he moves back and Ray spits out something she can't quite hear. Then he's turning, this beautiful boy she'd known her entire life, and he's leaving.

"Mama's going to get suspicious," he pauses at the entrance. When there's no response from either of them, his shoulders sag. "Good night, Emma, Ray."

* * *

There's a moment before he leaves in which she thinks he's going to give her an answer. His breath is warm across her ear and she's never heard him so angry or desperate.

"Do you want to die?" he whispers harshly. Her crutches are scattered on the floor and her leg feels as though twenty people stabbed it with fire-tipped forks. His pupils are blown wide in terror. "Emma!"

She looks at him properly then, eyes welling up. His hat frames the white curls on his forehead and his suit is slightly creased. Underneath the formal clothes, it's still him, alive. Her hands hurt from barely catching her fall. "Norman," she pleads.

That's the moment. He hesitates. His hand slowly lifts to cup her cheek, and he opens his mouth.

And that's it. She feels the cold, cold presence at her back and she freezes. A mask slams down over his terror and he smiles at her, soft and warm as if he really did tell her he loved her. He pulls her up gently.

"Mama, can I say goodbye to Emma?"

* * *

The next night, she finds the letter. It's tucked inside the bottom of her pillowcase, and she feels the rustle of paper beneath her head the moment her head touches the pillow. The room is empty. Everyone is still washing up. She goes last, since Gilda has to help her.

Mechanically, she draws out the folded paper and smooths it out on her knees.

_To my dearest Emma,_ it reads.

She blinks at the mention of Ray's suicide attempt, then skims the plan. It could work, she thinks. This could really, definitely work.

She imagines him then, sitting on the bed next to her. _Emma,_ he says cheerfully, perfectly unscathed. _Live on for me._

She reads the end message.

_I'm counting on you, Emma. Take care of Ray and our siblings. And everything else._

She takes a deep breath, feels the tears burn the back of her throat, and smiles as they pour down her face.

_Thank you, Norman._

* * *

epilogue:

"You can't give her an answer if you're dead," Ray spits. Anger, grief, and heartbreak war across his face.

Norman knows. She has to live on, live without him and he won't tie her down to him like that. Better she move on than be bound to a boy in a grave who loves her back and cannot do anything more to save her.

She'll do anything to keep him alive. Two can play at that game.

He's always been the best at games, after all.

* * *

**_AN: I put the ost on for SECONDS and immediately felt the chills. It was frighteningly easy to write after that. Please let me know what you think! Until next time!_**


End file.
